


The Return of Queen Susan

by Transposable_Element



Series: Life After Narnia [3]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M, Racism, Sexism, Upper class twits, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transposable_Element/pseuds/Transposable_Element
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 December, 1950. </p><p>At a party in London, Susan overhears someone calling her boyfriend a wog. She does battle, using the weapons at her disposal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return of Queen Susan

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this sitting around half-finished for a while and since I haven't been writing much recently I thought I might get back into the swing by working on it. 
> 
> Background: This story (originally titled "Bagged,") takes place about eight months after the end of "In Mourning." Susan is now going to university in London. She has begun dating a friend of Peter's from Oxford, Dev Samanta, who was in India at the time of the train accident, and who looked her up when he came back to London.

During her first term of university Susan's mind was full, her intellect engaged as it had not been for many years. But when the term ended she felt at a loss. Always before, the end of term had meant going home to her family. Now she felt herself beginning to sink into the melancholy that had lifted somewhat during the last few months. She feared losing the small distance she had put between herself and her grief. So she was pleased when Dev told her they'd been invited to a party, and rather a posh one, at that. She hoped it would get her mind off her woes.

At least it gave her something new to worry about. This was the first time she had gone out with Dev to anything so upper crust, and she worried that her best dress wasn’t nice enough. It was a hand-me-down from one of her American cousins, a pretty enough dress, and she'd made a good job of altering it, but it was undoubtedly out of date. With it she wore a necklace of her mother's, the best piece of jewelry she owned, on the theory that a good string of pearls would make up for an unfashionable dress. 

The party's host was a young barrister named Phillip Martinson, who had been friendly with both Peter and Dev when they were all at Oxford. Susan had met him once or twice, years before. He and his wife lived in a large flat in Chelsea, overlooking the Embankment. Susan guessed that one of them must have family money, otherwise they’d never be able to afford this place. By the standards of post-war London, it was a lavish party; certainly there was more liquor than Susan had seen in a good long time. 

Dev introduced her to some of his old Oxford friends. They seemed more staid and prosperous than her friends, almost stuffy, although they couldn’t be _that_ much older. A few people at the party had known her brothers, but to Susan's relief nobody pressed her to talk about the accident. One lady asked solicitously how she was managing, but that was all.

As the evening wore on the flat filled up with people. It wasn't exactly what Susan would call lively, but there was a pleasant hum of conversation and cool jazz playing on the gramophone. Susan started to relax a bit.

 

Susan was in the hallway on her way back from the lav when she overheard a man’s voice, _sotto voce_ : “So, how do you suppose old Samanta managed to bag Pevensie’s sister?”

“Astonishing, isn't it? Lucky bugger,” said a second voice, also in an undertone. Susan stopped in the hallway. The voices were just around the corner, on the other side of the partition.

“I suppose his family has money…” said the first voice. By now she’d recognized the speaker as an old classmate of Peter’s, Daniel Barton. She had once had to slap him. 

“Some, but I don’t think they’re all _that_ well set-up,” said a third voice. “I expect she just fancies wogs.”

The men laughed. “Don’t be dis _gus_ ting,” said voice number two, and sniggered again.

“There’s no explaining a woman’s taste,” said Daniel. “But why him, of all people? She's such a stunner, she could have any—”

"Excuse me!”

Susan started. A woman was glaring at her impatiently as she tried to pass by in the hallway. Susan realized she must look odd, just standing there listening. 

"Oh, sorry," Susan said, and stepped out of the woman’s way and into the living room. She saw that Dev was deep in conversation with Martinson, and she decided not to interrupt them. Instead, she walked casually over to the windows opposite, then turned and looked around the room. After a moment she spotted Daniel Barton standing with two vaguely familiar young men. Or perhaps it was just that they were a familiar type: bland, upper class, self-satisfied. One was blond (and a bit weedy, she thought maliciously). The other was more solidly built and had wavy auburn hair—Susan might have thought him attractive if she hadn’t just discovered what a swine he was.

She was seething, but she went to fetch herself a drink while she took a moment to calm herself. Much as she wanted to charge over and confront them immediately, she knew that a little preparation would increase the likelihood of a successful ambush. She straightened her skirt. Fortunately she had just freshened her lipstick while in the lav.

Susan spent a few minutes planning the best way to squash them. After checking to make sure it was still just the three of them in conversation, she approached Daniel from behind. “Hello, Daniel,” she said. “So nice to see you.”

He turned to her, obviously startled, and blurted out, “Oh—hello Susan. I haven’t seen you since…” And then he trailed off, perhaps realizing that he ought not to mention their last meeting. 

Susan checked to see that she had the attention of Blond-and-Weedy and Auburn Waves. Then she smiled and said to Daniel, “Were you the one who was wondering a few minutes ago how Dev managed to _bag_ me?” The horrified expression on Daniel's face was gratifying. Auburn Waves, whose gaze had been fixed somewhere south of her chin, looked up, alarmed.

She sipped her drink. None of them spoke. Shock, combined with a deeply ingrained dread of making a scene in public, had silenced them. She had the upper hand and intended to keep it.

"If you didn't want to be overheard, you oughtn't to have had your disgusting little conversation right next to an open doorway," she said.

Blond-and-Weedy cursed softly.

“Funny word, 'bag.' It makes me sound like a pheasant," Susan said. "However, since you’ve asked, it’s possible that one reason Dev was able to _bag_ me is that he waited for an appropriate time and place, instead of trying to chat me up right after my brothers’ funeral. Really, Daniel, whatever possessed you to do that—let alone to try to put your hands where they weren’t wanted? Did you think I was so exhausted and miserable that I’d be easy game?”

By now Daniel had turned an unattractive shade of pink. He opened his mouth as if to speak. 

Susan cut him off. “And don’t say you were drunk, that only makes it worse.” Daniel closed his mouth.

“Miss Pevenesie—” began Blond-and-Weedy. 

Susan cut him off, too. “Have we met?”

“Well…yes…several times, actually.” He laughed nervously.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember you. I presume you’re another classmate of Peter’s? I wonder what he’d do if he’d been here to overhear your conversation. I’m sure I never heard him use the word ‘wog,’ not even when we were children.” 

The man didn’t answer; his face was white, a nice contrast to Daniel's pink. Susan turned to Auburn Waves. “I remember you, though. Simon Fielding, isn’t it? You were in the rugby club with Edmund. He always _said_  you were an idiot. A few too many knocks on the head, I suppose.” He didn’t answer either, but Daniel emitted a short bark of laughter. 

“Returning to the matter of how Dev _bagged_ me,” she said, lowering her voice confidentially, “all I can say is that I’m glad he did, because he’s absolutely _amazing_ in the sack—which is where I’m going to take him as soon as we leave this dreary party.” Susan stepped back and paused for a moment to enjoy the tableau of shocked faces. “Oh really,” she said, “Considering the amount of energy you lot spend trying to get girls into bed, you’d think it would occur to you that a girl might like to enjoy it, too. You might have better luck if you kept that in mind.” She sipped her drink. "And don't think you can revenge yourselves by going around calling me a tart,” she added. “For one thing, I don’t give a toss. After all, it’s not as though I have to worry about any rumors getting back to my _family_ …”

Auburn Waves closed his eyes and moaned, “Oh, _please_ don’t…”

Susan continued relentlessly: “And for another, that kind of thing works both ways. I've already warned a few mutual acquaintances about _you_ , Daniel, and word does get around. If somebody happened to mention it to that gossip Kathy Herrick, then by now every woman in your little set knows what a rotter you are. I doubt anybody would believe a word you said about me. And I'm sure your mates here would prefer to avoid being shunned. Although it may already be too late—I notice that none of you is here with a date."

Susan waited, but none of them seemed capable of speech. "Well, if you've nothing more to say, Daniel, then you ought to close your mouth. Ta-ta! I've enjoyed our little chat." She turned and began to walk away. 

"Bloody hell..." one of them whispered.

Susan smiled. 

Dev and Martinson were still talking, over on the other side of the room. Susan came up beside Dev, put her arm through his, and gazed at him adoringly. She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear: “Put your arm around me.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later. Just do it.” He looked puzzled, but obligingly put an arm around her waist. “Hand on my hip,” she said. She nestled against him and smiled.

“Susan—”

“You two look ready to be going,” said Martinson.

“Yes, I’m a bit tired. I think we ought to be off,” Susan said, and Dev, still puzzled, went to collect their coats.

“What was _that_ all about?” asked Martinson.

“I overheard somebody calling Dev a wog,” she said, and polished off her drink.

“Oh. Who was it?”

“One of those two men standing over there with Daniel Barton,” Susan said. “The blond one, I think. But it doesn’t much matter; one of them said it, and the other two thought it was funny.”

"Oh dear, how unpleasant..." said Martinson.

 _In other words, you don't like it, but you're not going to hold it against them_ , Susan thought. _You might even decide that inviting Dev was asking for trouble_. Suppressing this bitter thought, she continued, "In any case, I think I made them all _extremely_ sorry."

“Yes, I noticed you talking to them. I’d love to know what you said. Daniel still looks a bit pink in the face.”

“He’s a swine, but I already knew that.”

“Really? I’ve always found him quite pleasant.”

“You’re not a woman. It’s amazing how many ‘quite pleasant’ men are quite awful when they’re on the make. He tried to paw me right after my brothers’ funeral. Feel free to tell everyone you know. Girls really ought to be warned about a man like that.”

“Revenge?”

“Yes. Paltry, I admit. I miss my brothers often, but never so much as when there’s violence to be done.”

“You don’t mean that….” 

She sighed. “No, you’re right. I don’t. Although you'd be amazed at some of the battles they fought."

Ogres. Giants. Even a few Nazis, although the war was nearly over by the time Peter was called up. She had a sudden impulse to tell Martinson that Peter had once killed a wolf to protect her—that was one he might even believe, especially if she didn’t mention that he’d used a sword. But she was only slightly tipsy, nowhere near drunk enough to give in to that kind of impulse.

"Fortunately, I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles. In fact, I rather enjoy it," Susan said.

Dev came back with their coats. They said their goodbyes and left.

Susan told Dev what had happened as they were walking to the tube station. He laughed in all the right places, but when she’d finished, he said soberly, “If you’re going to keep seeing me, you’ll have to get used to that kind of thing.”

“I know. I realized that tonight.”

“You don’t need to protect me, you know. I've had lots of practice handling these slights.” 

“They insulted both of us,” she pointed out. “In a way it was a godsend, I’ve been spoiling for a good opportunity to tweak Daniel Barton’s nose! Taking him down a peg ought to be considered a public service.”

“Fair enough. ....But you know, I do feel a bit left out. I'd have loved to watch my intrepid lady doing battle for her honor.”

“Would you really? It wouldn't embarrass you, or...make you feel unmanned?”

"I'd have enjoyed every minute."

"Well then, I suppose that's one reason I'm glad you bagged me..."

“What about the other reason?…"

"What other reason?" she asked.

“I believe you said I was, uh... 'amazing in the sack.' ”

“Oh, that…What about it?"

"Well, how do you know?"

"A girl can tell." She put her arm through his. "But clearly it's time to find out for certain." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're unfamiliar with the term "wog," here's an [explanation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wog#Use_in_British_English)...
> 
> This story came about because I got bogged down in a story I was writing about Susan and Dev meeting and getting involved. Dev stays in the background in this story for the same reason that the other story bogged down: because I realized that I didn't really know enough about India and its politics circa 1950 to do justice to Dev as a character. As a result, my plans for this series are largely on the back burner for now.


End file.
